Wooly Bully, dear friends.   I derived some years back a spiritual way. Though origins trend spacey in nether worlds, it was Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs that opened a gaggle of third eyes.

Mine opens each time I watch the video on youtube, the novelty band performing their song Wooly Bully.   In the manner Hattie told Mattie about a thing she saw,  the element of being witness shines forward.   Spiritual paths require navigation, North Star substitutes, digital cuing and prompting.  What makes one divine celebrity's observations more profound than those of people in the peanut gallery? I shall reveal, post haste, it's the beat. Few create it, everyone needs it, thus a force of fate. Are we jack-offs?

These days, common mortals buy a GPS device and stick on God’s own Cadillac rocker panel.  It’s so rough out there, people have reached the ability to weasel God.   And there I go again, digressing.  This can really limit an individuals growth.   

Once people reach the apex of supernatural comprehension, they tend to slack off.   This can be observed in colleges and churches and don’t get me started on covens.  Many are thriving in small numbers, and I’d rather not piss them off.   Witchcraft is an institutional behavior, though. Same as math. No one crunches numbers without first getting a stream of them up the butt, in a math class.

   One can’t be a wizard without a community of poor suckers who believe shit.  Any shit.  A wizard’s importance to a community is relative to the need for the hash the wizard is slinging.  This is the true path to shit.   One  eats hash.  One shits in the morning.   No finer indication of wizardry is called for.  For stronger understanding, one is hungry, wants hash, a wizard is selling it, logically, one buys it and woofs it down.   I wish this was easier.   

Metaphorically, God slings hash.   On the morning menu, He/She/Whomever whacked out Heaven and Earth.  This is practically nonfiction.   Next, using a long stainless steel spatula, such as is used in commercial kitchens everywhere, such as on a common gas grill, the Lord slung off the animal kingdom, tossed it on a plate, and yelled through a narrow slot in the kitchen wall, “Order out, Mable.”

Years later the group, Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs assembled, like matter converging, there is a rumbling vortex, and a new star is born.  Their hit song Wooly Bully reached all my chakras.  It is why, and I feel compelled to explain, Religious Faith Pop.   Hence the name Iggy Pop.   We’ll have to repent to Iggy soon enough, but right now Sam the Sham is singular hope for redemption. Wooly Bully is The WORD.    Thanks for reading.